Page 114 of The Ragpicker King
“It used to be more unusual,” Kel said, and when Conor looked at him sidelong, he added, “You are pushing yourself too hard to feel what you think you need to feel. YoulikeAnjelica. You seem well on your way to friendship. There are worse foundations for marriage.”
He could not remember what Conor had said in reply—and he was distracted now by someone calling his name. It was Merren, waiting with Ji-An outside the Caravel.
The two of them were seated on the barrier wall of a stone bridge over the canal. Merren raised a hand and waved at Kel; Ji-An, as usual, looked as if she were busy thinking about all the people and things that she disliked.
“You look awful,” she said to Kel by way of greeting. She wore her usual violet silk jacket, her long hair caught with coral clips at the back of her head.
“I am,” Kel informed her, “hung over.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Your face is green. It clashes with... whatever that color is.” She waved her hand at his clothes: a wine-colored frock coat and matching trousers.
“Here, take this,” said Merren, sliding off the railing. He rummaged in his jacket and produced a pewter flask.
When Kel unscrewed the top, the pungent odor of tree sap made him wince. “Are you sure this isn’t poison?”
“If I were going to poison you, I would tell you,” said Merren with an air of injured dignity.
“Hmph,” said Kel, and tipped the flask back, swallowing hard. What felt like a small firework burned its way down his throat to his stomach. Tears sprang to his eyes. He was somewhat aware of Merren telling him that they’d only just gotten the message he’d sent to the Black Mansion last night, and how had Kel managed to get Ciprian Cabrol to agree to meet him at the Caravel?
“I think Kel might be dying,” said Ji-An, gazing at Kel with interest as he coughed. “Are yousureyou didn’t poison him, Merren?”
“It’s as if none of you trust me at all,” Merren complained. To Kel’s surprise, the burning feeling was fading, as was the pain in his head.Well.He handed the flask back to Merren, blinking. A not unpleasant clarity was spreading through his veins. The world around him seemed to have sprung into focus: He felt as if he could count every stone of the bridge in minutes, if he were so inclined. It rather put Dom Valon’s hangover cures to shame.
“Whatwasthat stuff?” he asked. “I could talk Conor into buying literal buckets of it, if you cared to sell.”
Merren tucked the flask back into his jacket. “I use it sometimes when I need to concentrate on my studies. And you know I won’t sell anything to the Palace,” he added. “It’s against my principles.”
“Of course,” Kel said. “I so rarely meet people with principles, I forget what they look like.”
“Speaking of the unprincipled...” Ji-An nudged.
“Right. Ciprian.” Kel looked behind them at the Caravel. He did not want to think about the last time he’d been there; he couldn’t bear thinking about Antonetta at all. “He thinks he’s meeting Conor. Merren, do you have any of that truth serum you used on Raimon?”
Merren looked dubious. “Do you think he’ll willingly take a drink from you once it turns out you’re not Conor?”
“I’m not sure he’d even willingly take a drink from Conor.” Kel scrubbed at his eyes. “All right. Let’s think. We have one chance to get this information from him. What’s our plan?”
There followed a flood of suggestions from both Merren and Ji-An. They were still disagreeing on the finer points when Kel left his companions on the bridge and headed to the Caravel, trying not to mind that his mouth tasted as if he had been licking the floor of a pine forest.
When he rang the copper bell, Hadja answered, her gold earrings swinging. She ushered him in, saying only that Domna Alys Asper was expecting him. Kel followed her to the main room, which was emptier than he had ever seen it; he supposed the Caravel did most of its business at night. A group of courtesans, with no one to entertain, were gathered companionably on sofas in the main room. One of them was Silla, her red head bent over her cards.
Kel glanced away just as Alys came into the room. She was unchanged: small and neat as ever, her dark hair loose over her shoulders. She really was surprisingly like Merren, Kel thought, though they did not look alike at first blush. They had the same delicate frame, the same fine-boned hands, the same economical gestures. Kel had not known Merren well enough to see it before.
“Is he here?” Kel said.
Alys nodded and began to lead him up the stairs. As they went up, Kel saw Silla glance over at him with a small, regretful smile.
Kel said, “My thanks, Domna Asper, for helping us once again.”
She said calmly, “I wasn’t aware that I’d helped you before.”
“You deprived Gremont of his protective amulet. Believe me, you did us all a service.”
A look of real pleasure crossed her face. There was no regret in it, only the satisfaction of seeing a balance restored. “Who knows that he’s dead?”
“Only a few people,” Kel said. “For the moment, everyone on the Hill merely thinks he’s gone off somewhere. What did you do with the amulet, by the by?”
“It’s in good hands,” she said as they reached the top floor. He fell into step beside her as they traversed the familiar corridor. Months ago, he had met Merren here for the first time—the same night he’d been kidnapped by Andreyen and offered a job working for the Black Mansion. The second night of his life where everything had changed in a moment’s span.
